Why Are All the Good Guys Total Monsters? (4 page)

‘Give me a straight question,’ he said.

‘Okay,’ I said, taking a deep breath. ‘Let’s start with the basics.’
From everything mum had taught me about being a journalist, when confronted by
someone who doesn’t want to give a straight answer, work your way around them.
Throw some questions at them they don’t expect. And so I began by asking, ‘What
do you do? Have you finished school? Are you at college?’

His lips curved into a smirk and he seemed amused by this
suggestion. ‘I’ve finished my education.’

‘Where do you work? Do you have a job?’ I said, ignoring his
attitude.

‘I’m of independent means. My family left me an inheritance
— land, property, white gold —’

‘White gold?’

‘Yes,’ he said without any elaboration.

‘So you’re a rich kid?’

The muscles in his jaw tightened. ‘Depends on what value you
place on wealth.’

‘My mum’s a journalist and works hard,’ I said, defending
where my values lay. ‘She raised me without any help from anyone. We’ve never
been rich but we do okay.’

‘What about you? Do you contribute?’ he dared to ask, his
tone assuming that I didn’t.

‘The past couple of years I’ve earned money taking
photographs and writing features for magazines,’ I said, refusing to rise to
the bait. ‘I use the money to help pay for things I want, as spending money for
my trips to Edinburgh, and on clothes.’

He smiled when I mentioned clothes, making me feel like I
was some sort of frivolous shopper which couldn’t have been further from the
truth.

I continued under his disapproving stare. ‘I don’t earn a
lot but it makes me feel like I contribute and it is good experience which is
invaluable.’ Without giving him a chance to remark, I turned the focus back to
him. ‘Do you live in Edinburgh?’

This question made him pause. What was so difficult about
it? Either he lived in the city or he didn’t.

‘I live near here,’ he said.

His words lingered in the air, awkward, unfinished. What was
he hiding?

‘You sure about that?’ I said.

‘Quite sure.’

‘Okay.’ I sighed, reckoning this was the nearest to the
truth he was going to reveal. ‘What about Sabastien? What’s his story?’

‘You seem very interested in Sabastien. Perhaps you should
ask him yourself?’

Unless I was mistaken there was a hint of jealousy in his
voice.

‘Maybe I will,’ I said, ‘if I ever see him again.’

‘Sabastien doesn’t give up that easily,’ he said in a
warning tone.

‘What’s to give up?’ I said.

He looked at me that way again, like I troubled him. Then he
said, ‘You.’

I laughed. ‘Me?’

He nodded, staring at me with those intense grey eyes.

‘Sabastien doesn’t know me, and I don’t know him, unless
Orlaith’s wild assumption that I have a secret admirer is true.’

Daire’s expression was unreadable. He looked like he’d shut
down his emotions and was giving nothing away.

I couldn’t fathom him out, so I pressed him for a response.
‘Do I have a secret admirer?’ I felt that this was so exciting if it was true.
What girl in their heart of hearts wouldn’t want someone like Sabastien as a
secret admirer even if it was just a notion? A guy who would write a romantic
letter (come on, it could have been) in invisible ink that only she was meant
to read at midnight. My imagination was working overtime, but it was such an
exciting thought.

He looked at me strangely.

‘Well, do I?’ I said, challenging him.

‘Yes, you do have a secret admirer.’

‘And . . .?’

‘And I’d better go now. Get some sleep. You look tired.
Things will look fine in the morning.’

‘I wish,’ I said.

He looked at me and nodded.

‘Goodnight,’ he said, and I thought he was going to bow, but
stopped himself and hurried away. He didn’t leave via the house. He climbed
over the garden wall, jumping up, grabbing hold, pulling himself to the top as
if he was as light as air, and then disappeared into the night.

I should have been relieved that he’d gone, but I wasn’t.
The atmosphere in the garden was subdued, as if he’d taken the energy with him.

I stood there gazing out at the rain, shivering, trying to
unravel my thoughts.

Moments later, a flash of lightning ripped across the sky. I
took this as a warning, and stepped inside.

A warm shower, change of clothing, and cup of hot chocolate
made me feel less anxious. I’d secured the house to within an inch of its life.
I’d even set the old security alarm on the patio doors. Orlaith never used it
and I was surprised it was still working.

Of course, I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t even attempt to go to
bed. It wasn’t that late anyway, and I was sitting on the sofa sipping my hot
chocolate when two things happened that were weird. The first was a phone call
from my mum in New York. I’d never heard her so excited. Basically, she’d had
the offer of a lifetime. I was over the moon for her. There was an opening for
a journalist on one of the prime time television slots in New York and she’d
been offered the job — a two year contract. She would be reporting her news
stories on national television. That’s if she accepted the job. But one thing
was making her unsure — me.

‘Grab it with both hands. It’s what you’ve always wanted,
what you’ve worked hard for,’ I said.

‘Yes, but what about you? They want me to work the next
couple of months in New York. I won’t make it to Edinburgh. And we’d have to
leave London for a couple of years. What about your school work?’

They’d sprung the opportunity on her right out of thin air.
Apparently someone who admired her work had recommended her for the job at the
eleventh hour. They’d been looking for a go–getter journalist who was also easy
on the eye. Mum was a looker. She always had been. At thirty–four she could’ve
passed for twenty–six, and had a modern summery beauty going on.

‘You won’t get a chance like this again,’ I said. ‘Take it.
Take it for you, for us.’

‘It’s a lucrative deal, kiddo,’ she said in an excited
whisper.

‘Say yes, mum. Just say yes.’

And so that’s what happened.

I relaxed back on the sofa and drank a toast with my hot
chocolate. ‘To us, mum. Go get them!’

Living in New York would be great. As for school, well I
intended going into journalism so being right in the heart of the Big Apple
with my mum working in the media would be no bad thing.

Then the phone rang again. I assumed it was mum needing to
reassure herself that I really was okay with the plan. I was wrong. It was
Orlaith calling from Glasgow. She’d been offered the chance of a lifetime too.

By now my mind was working overtime. What were the odds of
both of them being offered these? However, I brushed my suspicions aside as
Orlaith enthused about being invited to London to show her work at one of the
top galleries, with the promise of licensing. Someone had seen her paintings at
the exhibition in Glasgow and wanted to buy the rights to use her faerie and
flower images on prints, tableware and linen. It was another great money deal.
Of course I was delighted for her, and reassured her I’d be fine on my own.
Yes, Midnight was going with her. Even the cat was welcome.

The whole deal was perfect. Too perfect?

My mind drifted to Daire’s gorgeous face. It was perfect.
Perfect except for one flaw — the silvery scar. Arguably, Sabastien was
absolute perfection. His lilac eyes sparkling with hidden thoughts I couldn’t
fathom . . .

Time must have slipped away, because when I blinked out of
my daydreaming, my hands were cupped around a mug of cold chocolate. Where had
the time gone? This thought was becoming too familiar. I took the cup through
to the kitchen and poured the dregs away.

As I rinsed and dried it, I saw something flickering in the
depths of the garden outside the kitchen window.

One word came to mind — faeries.

I closed the kitchen blind, flicked off the light and went
through to the lounge, trying not to be tempted to peek through the patio
doors. Temptation got the better of me. I almost wished it hadn’t, because I
saw Sabastien standing in the garden.

He knew I’d seen him.

It crossed my mind to make a run for it out the front door
into the street, or call the police, but there was something about Sabastien
that made me hesitate. What was I going to say anyway? There was this gorgeous
guy in the garden and he was warning me about faeries. Yeah, I think they’d
lock me up first.

‘Please don’t worry,’ he shouted. ‘I lost something. I came
back to look for it.’

He walked towards the house.

‘Stay where you are!’ I shouted, but he couldn’t hear me
clearly.

He frowned.

I hurried to the small vent on the patio doors and called to
him through that. ‘Stay where you are. Don’t take another step.’

He stopped where he was.

‘If you step on the patio you’ll set off the security
alarm.’ I pointed to the little flashing red light that indicated the alarm was
on.

He nodded. ‘I lost a ring. It’s not valuable but it’s
precious to me. I think it’ll be lying around here somewhere.’ He glanced
towards the Cupid’s darts. ‘I thought if I left it until morning it could be
washed away with the rain.’

His manner wasn’t threatening. I flicked on the main patio
lights so he could see what he was doing.

‘Thanks.’ He smiled at me, and even from this distance, in
the misty rain, his smile was dazzling.

I watched him search through the flowers, his long coat open
to reveal his lean, strong physique clad in dark clothing. He fascinated me,
and my stomach twisted as I resisted opening the doors to help him look for
whatever he’d lost. But Daire had warned me about Sabastien, and he was an
intruder after all — again.

‘Ah, here it is.’ He smiled and held up a substantial gold
ring. It was a man’s ring and it glistened in the light. I couldn’t see the
details, though it seemed to be shades of gold. Very unusual. He walked towards
me but stopped short of the patio. ‘I would’ve been very upset to have lost it.
I’ve had it forever.’

He sounded genuine. I nodded.

‘Sorry for intruding again. I promise not to make a habit of
it.’ He smiled at me, and I felt a pang of guilt as he said, ‘I hope I didn’t
scare you. And I hope Daire didn’t either.’

‘Daire warned me not to trust you.’ The words were out
before I could stop them.

‘Did he now?’ He slipped the ring on to his finger. ‘How
chivalrous of him. What else did he say?’

I hesitated.

‘Do tell,’ he cajoled. ‘I’d love to know.’

I bit my lip and then muttered, ‘He said you were a master
of trickery and deceit.’

He laughed, quite heartily.

‘And he insinuated you’d tricked me into thinking I’d seen
faeries.’

‘Daire has been chatty, hasn’t he? I suppose my character
has been completely slain. You probably think I’m a devious monster.’

‘I don’t know what to think,’ I said truthfully. ‘There are
so many things I’d like to know.’

He held his arms out openly. ‘Ask me anything you want.’

‘Anything, even if it’s about Daire?’

He laughed again. ‘Especially if it’s about Daire. No holds
barred on that one, I promise.’ His fabulous lilac eyes were shining with
wicked intention.

‘Okay . . . can I trust you?’

‘Yes.’ He was quick to reply.

‘Can I trust Daire?’

‘Sometimes.’

I scowled. ‘Sometimes?’

‘Keep going, this is fun,’ he said.

‘Could I have trusted Daire tonight?’

‘Probably not.’

I gulped. ‘So you’re the good guy, not him?’

‘That’s about right.’

‘What’s Daire up to?’

‘Ruining everything for me, basically.’

‘Why would he want to do that?’

‘That’s not the question,’ he said, taking me off guard.

‘So what is?’

‘What you should have asked was — will he succeed?’

I played along. ‘Will he succeed?’

‘He’d better not.’

I laughed nervously. ‘I really don’t understand any of
this.’

‘That’s what he’s banking on.’

‘But you’ll tell me everything?’

‘Oh very likely. I’ve never been any good at keeping
secrets.’

I paused. What did I want to know? What did I really want to
know? And then I thought — the letter. ‘Tell me about the letter.’

‘Ah, yes, the letter. Unfortunately you didn’t get to read
it, did you?’

‘No, only the signature. The words on the paper had faded.’

‘The words had faded on the envelope, which was the most
relevant part.’

‘I could read what it said on the envelope,’ I said, but he
was shaking his head.

‘Two words were missing.’ He seemed adamant about this.

I thought back to what it said. ‘It was addressed to me,
private and confidential, and said do not open until midnight.’

‘No, it said — do not open until Midnight is asleep.’

I frowned.

‘Midnight,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want you opening the letter
when he was awake.’

‘The cat?’

He was nodding.

‘The cat
?
’ I repeated.

‘But Daire had faded those words and completely changed the
meaning,’ he said, unfazed by my wide eyed stare.

‘What did the letter say?’

‘It was an invitation. Call me old fashioned, but it was to
introduce myself and to ask if you’ll have dinner with me. Oh and I’d added a
warning about not trusting Daire. Though I’d like to think I was less scathing
about him than he was about me.’

I paused, needing to think, and breathe . . .

‘Are we done?’ he said.

I blinked. ‘Erm, no. What about the faeries?’ No way was I
missing out on that.

‘What do you want to know about them?’

I smiled, nervous, disbelieving, then became drawn to those
intoxicating eyes of his, his dazzling smile and charm. ‘Are the faeries real?’